What We Do
by GravityDefier7827
Summary: One shots of Eleanor and Jasper. Rated M.
1. Sleep

_He always waited for her to fall asleep first._

* * *

He wasn't sure why, but he always waited for her to fall asleep. About a week after they first ended up tangled up in sheets, he figured out her routine. He would lay to the right of Eleanor, staring at the ceiling and counting the moments until she would kick her left leg and mumble some word that he couldn't unscramble out into his ear. Even when she was passed out drunk, the moment he felt the hot air fan over his jaw and a smooth leg rub up against his, he knew she was fast asleep. And only then did he feel safe enough to drift off himself.

He hated her for a bit. He really did. After her father was stabbed and every piece of her fucking _world_ was crumbling around her, she sent him away. He knows why she did; in the moment speculation, emotions were high, all that bull shit. But deep down he _knew_ that she knew he was innocent. And how could she do that to herself? Deny the only person who could help her, who could sympathize with her, and condemn him to prison. Sitting in that jail cell, he loathed her for single-handedly taking away her one sense of security, a source of steadiness. He hated her for making her life worse.

But she came back to him – she always does – and things had gotten much worse in the time he was gone. Wanting to meet that guy under the bridge (really, how could she have been so stupid?), finding out her father wasn't actually her's, Liam leaving, and the fact that she couldn't trust anyone. And yet, she came to him.

As night fell things had gotten impossibly more screwed up. By the time one thirty rolled around he was more than willing to rip Eleanor's clothes off, release her of some of the shit she's been through – at least for a couple hours – and forget the past twelve hours. After her thighs were clenched around his head, knuckles white from her death grip his hair, and back arched to an impossible angle off the bed, he let himself rest his forehead on her stomach. Just breathing in her scent made him completely relaxed, and when she coaxed a small moan from his lips just from lightly tracing his back, he knew he was fucked.

He didn't hook up with her, surprisingly. He knew she was exhausted, and just the thought of making her endure another second of her fucked up world made his blood boil. So when she palmed his erection through his pants, he simply shook his head, swatted her hands away, and pushed her too-thin body back onto the mattress. Like always, he lied down next to her and started counting.

It took two minutes for her leg to kick.

But it only took thirty seconds after that for her phone to start ringing.

His stomach dropped before she could even answer it. As she slowly shook herself out of her short lived sleep, he lay still next to her, praying to a God he didn't believe in to _please please please not let it be him_. Eleanor sat up against the headboard, naked body glowing in the dark, and brought the phone to her ear. By the time he propped himself on his elbows the phone had been chucked across the room and her cry of agony had echoed across the room.

Her hands were covering her face when he scooped her up into his arms. He grabbed the back of her head and pushed her face into his neck, trying to drown out the screams he knew would last him a lifetime. She shook like a leaf on his lap, arms not even strong enough to wrap around him to ground her. He could feel her heaving as she sobbed, and no matter how hard he pressed her to him she wouldn't stop.

He tried whispering to her. _Shh, it's okay._ It really wasn't. And there was no way she was going to be quiet. _I'm here._ He was, but to be honest she probably didn't even know where she was at the moment. _I know._ He did know, but she doesn't.

Ten minutes of rubbing, rocking, and whispering passed before he – unsuccessfully got her on her feet. Her legs were shaking so much that her had to catch her the second he drew away. Still crying, he set her on the edge of the bed and grabbed a handful of clothes out of one of the drawers on her dresser. Being as gentle as he could, he dressed her in a ripped shirt and leggings, knowing that it wasn't at all what some would call proper but not giving enough of a damn to care. After rubbing off some of the make up under her eyes, he easily lifted her up into his arms and set across the palace.

He wasn't sure when, but somehow Eleanor had gathered up enough strength to throw her arms around his neck. They spasmodically gripped the skin there every time she hiccuped through a sob; and he couldn't care more about the scratches that she was leaving in plain sight. Just the fact that she was coming back to him made him grip her just a bit tighter. _I got you._

By the time they reached the line of maids and body guards she had somewhat regained her composure. Tears still streamed down her blotchy, red, swollen face but the heaving and gasping had stopped – that was, until she saw her brother. When Liam stepped out of the room, he could practically hear her heart rip in half again.

He handed Eleanor over to her brother – out of respect, not want – when they were close enough. She needed to be with Liam, at least for right now. But it still didn't stop his hand from shooting out to grab her when the prince didn't support her correctly. When he was sure she was safe, he stepped to the side amongst two other guards, removing his eyes from the grieving siblings. They were rushed into a private room not long after that.

It was an hour of agony before he saw her again. She walked on wobbly legs next to her brother, her face now hard and eyes focused on him. He met her halfway, hand instinctively grabbing her elbow, drawing her closer and keeping her steady. Liam nodded once before taking off in an opposite direction, and that was all Jasper needed before leading Eleanor back towards her room. When they were out of sight of the others, she was scooped back up into his arms.

Behind the closed doors of her room, he once again stripped her of her clothes; this time his joined hers on the floor as well. With the doors securely locked, he climbed into the bed next to her, pulling her naked body close to his. He didn't care that they're not about _this_. The cuddling, the whispers, the loving. But by this point he just needed to feel her heart beat next to his and he'd be damned if she didn't want the same. At some point in the night, she began to weep again. He simply pulled her closer and stroked her hair, muttering things in her ear that she wouldn't remember in the morning.

He didn't let out the breath he'd been holding for hours until he felt her leg kick against his. This night, there was no word. He almost wished there was.

* * *

 _How about you press that little review button and tell me what you think? Sorry for the typos, I didn't check this baby :P_


	2. Anger

_He always had this controlled look about him._

* * *

Sometimes, Jasper got angry.

With a short temper like his, it doesn't take much to get him going – not to mention the princess that just _loved_ to push his limits. There's been times where he's stalked out of her room and into the tunnels, punching the stone walls over and over until his blood was smeared over them. Other times he'd scream and yell into his pillow until there was nothing left in him. Some nights, when he could sneak out of the palace, he'd run for hours; going until his legs couldn't take him any further. And sometimes he'd drain bottles of whiskey until he'd forgotten his own name.

He was always careful enough, however, to wait until he was alone to explode at the world. He scared himself, sometimes, when he was angry. And having some one – Eleanor – in the room...the thought of losing control of himself was hard to think about. But he was precise, and the princess was always far away during these moments.

Until now.

They were locked in a small room in the tunnels – a quarter of the size of her bedroom. Jasper had thrown her into one of the corners, then turning to lock the door three times, throwing his body against the metal just to be sure. He stood with his gun pointed to the door, gasping for breath as quietly as he could, just waiting to fire if needed.

Eleanor was panting from where she was heaped in the corner. "Jasper..." she started.

He simply shook his head to quiet her, too invested into the footsteps he knew would be coming at any moment. They stayed like that for minutes, Jasper so rigid and tense it seemed like even if he wanted to move he couldn't.

"Jasper," the princess spoke again, picking herself off the floor, "they're gone."

His eyes darted to where she stood and began approaching him. "Stay there and _don't move,_ " he spit at her. "Keep quiet."

"They've passed, Jasper. I'm sure of it." She kept moving towards him, ignoring his instructions and warnings. "They went the other way."

"Princess, I won't tell you again. Stay as far away from the door as possible. _Now._ " He was seething by the end of his words.

"Jasper, I am _fine._ You need to calm down because whatever or whoever was down here doing God knows what is gone, Jasper." She was next to him now, challenging him in every way possible. She reached out and placed her small hand on one of his arms, and that was all it took.

Gun snapped back into place, he gripped her wrists and threw her back against the wall before she could blink in shock. Breathing heavily through his nose, he stared at her with an unknown fire in his eyes. For the first time, Eleanor felt like he could actually hurt her.

His face was an inch away from hers, his hands making hers lose circulation. She stared at him as words like knives left his mouth. "Don't you dare say you're fine. Don't _fucking_ say it. Now those men are still out there, so get in the fucking corner before I make you, Eleanor."

Never one to go down without a fight, she pushed back against him. It got her nowhere, but she kept trying. Spitting right back at him, she said, "Let it go, Jasper. Those men are gone and we are _fine_. Now get the hell off of me before I do something I probably won't regret."

"The only way I'm letting you go is if you get in the damn corner."

"Get the fuck off of me!" she yelled.

"Keep your voice down," he hissed.

"THEY'RE GONE, JASPER! THEY CAN'T –

He moved his hand to cover her mouth, her wrist now being held by his elbow. "Shut up, Len!"

She simply began screaming as loud as she could, wetting his palm with her warm breath. She kicked her legs, thrashed around, anything to make noise and show him that _it was fine._ A moment later, she saw the change in his face when he broke. He relaxed for a second before erupting into a mess of emotions.

"GOD DAMMIT!" he bellowed as he backed away, releasing her wrists as he slammed his fists into the stone. "CAN YOU NOT LISTEN TO A FUCKING WORD I SAY?"

She stumbled a couple steps away from him; she hardly thinks he notices. He continued, "I tell you what to do because I am supposed to protect you at all costs. I'm supposed to throw myself into a fucking bullet for you, and I'm prepared to do that. But when you pull stupid stunts like this shit, that's when I can't protect you. That's when things get out of control and there's not a thing in hell that I can do about it. So don't tell me to calm down when shit like this happens."

He punched the wall again, yelling from the pain, the effort, or the situation, she didn't know. She was too shocked to say anything to him, at least for right now; besides, she didn't have to chance to.

"He grabbed you," Jasper told her as he took in ragged breaths. "He put his _fucking_ hands on you and I couldn't do a thing about it. And you know what? If you would have fucking listened to me, I wouldn't have had to watch that. I wouldn't have had to think about what he could have done to you." He breathed. "I should have ripped that no good piece of shit apart once he was off of you." Another punch to the stone. This time he left his blood on it.

"Jasper..." she trailed off, not knowing what to say to him and not sure if he would even let her continue.

"Don't. I know what you're thinking and let me tell you that I don't give a shit about it. I don't care that you're probably right; that they're gone. But I will _not_ risk your life again. The only way you're getting within a foot of this door is if I'm walking you out of it."

He didn't even glance at her before he spun back around, heading towards the locked door. She stupidly followed him, not exactly sure why and not a clue what she would do in three seconds, but not really caring either. She followed her instincts, and right now they were screaming at her to confront him.

"Hey," she barked at his back, "Just because you think you're all tough shit because of your little temper tantrum doesn't mean you have the right to boss me around. The decisions I make are _mine_. I don't need you to play the hero, I can take care of myself, thank you."

He spun back around and glared at her. "Those men had a foot and at least one hundred and fifty pounds on you. There's no way of you getting out of that. And it shocks me to see that you think your decisions only effect yourself. Open your eyes a little, will you?"  
"I don't need your shit, Jasper," she snapped at him while she stalked over to the door. "I'm getting the fuck out of here and away from you."

She had her hands over the first lock before she was wrenched away from it. Jasper had both his hands gripping her elbows as he held her close. "I'm not gonna say it again, Eleanor," he seethed into her ear. "Job or not, we both know our places here. Now get in the fucking corner before I make you."

She tried to pull away from him. "You're hurting me."

"At least it's only me," he told her, lightly releasing the hold on her. "For God's sake, Len, do what I say."

She stared at him, searching searching _searching_ for something that she knew was there. But he was good, just like her. So, unsatisfied with her search, she finally broke free of his grip and slowly backed away from him, her heels clicking throughout the room.

When she reached the junction between the two walls, she spoke out to him. "We're not done here, Jasper."

He was already back in place, back rigid and gun positioned. "We never are, Princess."

* * *

 _Thank you for all the kind feedback! Keep it coming! Maybe even a couple requests? ;)_


	3. Smoke

Jasper liked to smoke.

Or maybe he didn't. He couldn't tell anymore. He used to hate it, actually. It reminded him too much of his mother – who would smoke in front of him in her stupid blue chair every goddamned day until he left that shithole of a house. But six months into his "new" life left him desperate for a quick getaway, even if only for a few minutes; and so when a stranger around the fire next to him offered him a light, he took it without thinking twice.

His hand shook his first time, and the tar tasted like a dump truck in his mouth. Still, it stopped him from thinking about anything else. And so he blinked away the tears from his eyes and lifted the fag back to his mouth, breathing in the toxic glory. Skip ahead years later and he still had the disgusting habit, only now his hand never faltered and he was numb to the burn.

They told him he was addicted. He told them to fuck off.

Eleanor tasted like smoke.

Well, that, _and_ drugs. And booze. But everything else was diluted to the smoke, and God, was that enough to make him come undone. She'd open her mouth to his and he'd taste that sickening smell and _dammit_ he couldn't get enough of it. If the cigarettes didn't get him to his grave she certainly would.

There were calm moments, too. Sometimes they'd lounge on the deck together in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the world was sleeping. They'd still be in their outfits from the day before, with his tie thrown on the ledge in front of them and her heels hung from the lamp growing from the stone wall. They'd stare out into the darkness before them, each quietly bringing the stick to their mouths. The smoke they'd release would mix together in the air, almost as if they were dancing. Just like them.

It was nice.

They wouldn't talk. No, that would ruin it. He never mentioned the smeared black make up underneath her dead eyes, the tremble of her hand – which he knew wasn't related to the butt – or the inevitable truth that she had to do all this shit again the next day.

She just wouldn't talk.

It was like that every time. Even when she was fuming mad, throwing things around her room, screaming at deaf ears, kicking the wall, she'd stay silent as he offered her a cigarette. She could never light them, though. Her hands shook too much and she never tried to, anyways. That was _his_ job, in its own twisted way. His fucked up way of taking care of her.

So, no, Jasper didn't like to smoke. It killed him every day, in more ways than one. It left that ass-like taste in his mouth and it could get him fired if the right person caught him.

But smoking reminded him of his Princess, and _that_ was something he could never get enough of. He'd left that consume him, day in and day out if she'd let him.

He was never one for rules, anyways.

* * *

 _A little short one to get you through your day._


End file.
